


Bossuet/Laigle

by laughingmistress



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Doppelganger, F/M, Gun Violence, I hope, M/M, Spooky, halloween fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-04 00:16:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21188378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughingmistress/pseuds/laughingmistress
Summary: Bossuet is an unlucky man, and the unluckiest part of his early life in Lille has just caught up to him in Paris.





	1. A Clever Girl

**Author's Note:**

> I said there would be another hallowe'en fic, and here it is. All three chapters should go up by Hallowe'en itself.
> 
> This one is for @pilferingapples, who likes when i write horror, and who specifically asked for a doppleganger story.

Musichetta knew something was wrong the moment he kissed her.

It was a Friday afternoon. Friday was Musichetta's half-day at the shop where she worked as a seamstress. It was also the day that Joly had classes at the medical school until four o'clock, but Bossuet was done with his own study of law by two, and so he would arrive at her little shared flat around half-past to pick her up, and together they would walk back to the one he shared with Joly. On the way they would stop into the wineshop, and pick up a bottle or two, and then on to the _boulangerie_ for a baguette or three, and finally, the _fromagerie,_ where they would debate a little over the milder or stinkier cheeses, and inevitably settle on whatever was her fancy.

By the time Joly came to join them, with his own two bottles acquired in his way, and a bit of fruit for their dessert, they would have already had a glass each, and be eagerly awaiting him Sometimes they got a bit carried away of course, and finished most of a bottle and were already well occupied when he arrived, but that never seemed to bother him. He was always eager to catch up in all regards, which Musichetta found rather endearing, and she and Bossuet both were more than pleased to bring him up to speed as soon as possible.

But today something was wrong, and Musichetta knew it as soon as Bossuet came in the door, for he kissed her quite hard enough to steal her breath away, pressing her into the wall next to the door. It would have been enjoyable were it not so unlike him, and as it was, she was panting by the time her let her go.

The thing was that Bossuet was not a lucky man, and prone to fits of clumsiness. He was also significantly larger than she was, and so he always took pains to be so gentle with her that it bordered on frustrating, occasionally, but really she was grateful. In earlier days, he'd once made a gallant show of scooping her up to toss her onto the bed, tripped, and thrown her right over it. He and Joly had been forced to pull the bed out to retrieve her from the space between it and the wall, and he had been nearly in tears over it, afraid he'd harmed her despite the fact that she hadn't stopped laughing the entire time.

No, Bossuet was always gentle with her. Tender, and sweet, and the kiss he gave her today was a hungry, lusty thing, as if he were absolutely desperate to see her, and she knew—something was wrong.

She pressed him back a bit with her little hands, examining his face. He was as sweet and brown and bald as ever, but he was not smiling, even after that kiss.

“Bossuet...”she said. “Birdie...what's wrong?”

He blinked at her, then stepped away. “I've not fooled you then,” he said. “I'd hoped you might not notice. I don't want to worry you, 'Chetta. I'm sure I can sort it out.”

He seemed worried, and this was even less like her Bossuet than the kiss had been. She made a non-committal sound, and then herded him towards a chair. “ You know better. Come on, tell me.”

He looked down into his hands, then turned them over and pressed them on his knees, and looked up at her. “You shan't believe it. Even for me, it's too much.”

Musichetta took one of his hands, and sat down by his knee. “I'd believe anything. Truly.”

Bossuet looked at her for a moment, then gave her a somewhat precarious-looking smile. “Perhaps you might. I have...not ever told you why I left Lille, have I?”

Musichetta thought about this. “You said that the house was crowded, with the other children, and since you were the oldest..why? Is there more to it?”

“More?” Bossuet snorted. “One might say that, yes. You see, it was only crowded because there were two of me. There wasn't to start out, but the Other Bossuet showed up just after my sixteenth birthday—”

“Wait, what?” Musichetta felt she might have misheard. “_Other _Bossuet?”

Bossuet shrugged. “Call him Laigle, if you want. I have names enough to go 'round. But I haven't lives enough, and he wanted mine.” He took a short pause. “I sound mad.” A deep breath. “He—_It—_is just exactly the image of me. Same eyes, same face, same...no hair. It turned up one day, and wouldn't leave. Worse, it was better at being me than me. Luckier, you know?”

Musichetta was not sure what to say. She just swallowed and nodded, and gave his hand a squeeze that he might go on, feeling a deep chill in her spine.

He squeezed her hand in return. “I tripped in the road, and it beat me to the school, so I couldn't go in. It did perfectly in spelling, and grammar, and latin, and during the break it not only made all of my friends laugh, but convinced a very pretty girl that I had been trying to get to speak with me for weeks to meet it in her father's barn after chores were done that night.” He hesitated. “I wasn't brave enough to follow, but it didn't harm her, i think. She seemed rather pleased the next day, to be honest. At any rate, it kept insinuating itself more and more into my life. And worse, it made me look more and more the fool, for it always seemed to know where _I _had been and who with and doing what. But I had no idea what _it _had been up to, you see. And then it managed to get into our house.

“And then...no one realised there, either. None of them could tell it was not me. Not any of my sisters, nor my brothers. Not my father. Not my mother, who I would have sworn could never be fooled by such a thing, 'Chetta, truly. It wanted a life so it stole mine. And finally I met it in the street, alone.” He stopped, and shivered.

She shivered too. She wanted him to be making one of his jokes, but this did not have the feel of them, not even the tiniest hint. Still, she made the effort.

“You must have been quite beside yourself.”

He just looked at her with a grave shake of his smooth head. “Not for longer than I had to be. I had to leave, 'Chetta. My home, my family...I came here and began again, for if I had not? I don't know what it might have done to them, but I know that I would not be here to tell the tale.”

Musichetta felt a twist in her stomach, a small dark dread. “You're only telling it now. Why?”

Bossuet would not meet her eye. “I saw it.”

“What? Where? Did it see you?”

He shook his head. “I don't think so. It was outside the law school, in the square. But I think...it must be bored with the life it stole from me before. It's come for my new one. And I don't know what to do...it will try and steal you, and Joly...”

His voice had gotten thin, and Musichetta cut him off. “No. No, we won't let it. Come, let's to Joly's flat. He'll have an idea, I'm sure. And you need a drink, I think.” She set a hand along his cheek. “Don't fret Birdie. We'll fix it. I promise. God, I knew something had to be wrong as soon as you kissed me so—like a man off to war!”

Bossuet stood, pulling her up, and close. “I should have known,” he said, “better than to try and keep it from you. You're too clever a girl by far.”

He kissed her again, and this time it was right.


	2. A Man of Science

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joly was not sure quite what was going on when he first came home.

Joly was not sure quite what was going on when he first arrived home. Generally when he came in on a Friday evening he expected to find the two dearest people in his world cheerful, if not outright tipsy, and often a certain part of the way to undressed if the second was the case.

But when he opened the door he found Bossuet and Musichetta to be uncharacteristically sober, both in terms of amount of liquid refreshments consumed, and in their general demeanour. Bossuet did have an over-full glass of wine in his hand, but it did not appear that he had touched it, and the look that Musichetta turned on Joly as he entered was one of mixed relief and desperation. She got up from the settee and threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in his thick scarf. She nearly knocked him over, and he did drop his cane. “Thank goodness,” she said. “We were afraid you might not come!”

Joly looked at Bossuet, over the top of her head, raising his eyebrows at him. Bossuet sighed, not getting up. “We thought _he _might have intercepted you along the way.” He looked glumly down into his full wine glass, a far cry from his usual cheerful self.

No, Joly was not quite sure at all of what was going on. “What?” he said. “I'd hardly let Grantaire pull me off to drink with him, when I knew you were both waiting!”

Musichetta gave a hiccupping laugh, and pulled away, looking up at him. She seemed pale, a strange tightness around her mouth that he did not recognise. “Not him,” she said. “The Other Bossuet.”

“I...sorry?” He stuck a finger into his ear and wiggled it. “You didn't say the _other_Bossuet, did you?”

“You are not going deaf, my friend,” said Bossuet from his seat at the little table. “She did. There are two of me. I can explain...”

Bossuet proceeded to do just that, although his words strained all sense, reasonable credibility, and scientific knowledge. Joly began to wonder if he was truly hearing this tale, or if perhaps he had instead developed a delirious fever, or was experiencing some sort of error of mental processing. Was this confused horror what an apoplexy felt like at the start? The fact was that it seemed like a story to scare children with, and he might not have been convinced of it, except that Bossuet was a man to jest, not to lie, and that he seemed so deeply affected by his discovery that this _thing, _which he kept calling Laigle, had appeared in Paris. Musichetta had clearly taken his tale to heart, for as he recounted it to Joly, she was pacing back and forth across the room, silently, wringing her hands together. She keep checking out the window as she passed it, as if she expected to see the thing standing in the street outside, staring up at the flat.

When Bossuet's tale came to an end, Joly just looked at him in silence. After a moment, he found his tongue. “It must be an awful thing, to be so...beside yourself.”

Musichetta made a strangled sound, that was not quite a laugh. “That's what I said. You must try to be more original, dear.” It was clear her heart was not in the teasing, and Bossuet did not even sniff at Joly's attempt at punning, a clear sign of his distress. His lack of response brought Musichetta to stop her pacing behind his chair, setting her hands on his shoulders, and looking at Joly, her eyes on his. “We must come up with some way to be rid of the thing! I like _our _Bossuet, just as he is! And I won't have any _counterfeiter _trying to steal his place! Have you any ideas?”

Joly looked at her, and then at Bossuet, his mouth feeling dry. “I...” He did not. He was a man of science, and such supernatural things were rather out of his wheelhouse. But that did not mean he would not try. He had to. He suddenly realized that he had at some point taken up pacing in Musichetta's place, his thoughts whirling by quickly enough that it was only the twinging of his game knee that alerted him to the fact that he'd started going in circles externally as well.

He forced himself to stop, giving his leg a small sharp kick, which made his knee snap and eased the ache that was starting in it a little. He took a deep breath.

“Bossuet, darling,” he began. “This thing, this..._Laigle_. You would say it is a man, yes? For all this it is uncanny? A thing that eats, and drinks, with a beating heart?”

Bossuet gave a cautious nod. “I would say so. It gives no impression of being anything else but a perfect copy of myself, and I do all those things. I hope I do, at any rate. When I saw it, I rather thought for a moment that my heart _had _stopped, to be honest.” Musichetta slid one of her hands over his heart, bringing her face down next to his, pressing their cheeks together.

“No fear, “ she said, and turned her face to press a kiss to his cheek, although Joly could tell that she was very afraid indeed, in spite of her calm, caring tone. “I can feel it, just here. We'll fix this, Birdie. If I have to _kick _the thing to death!” Her threat was ridiculous, but her fierceness was in earnest.

Joly looked at those two dear faces, so close to each other, and felt a thumping in his own chest.

“You shan't have to kick it, love, and I don't want you near it at all. It could be dangerous. If it is a creature of flesh and blood, we can find something more effective, I am sure. And far more permanent.” The thought he had made his hands shake a little, and so he sat down opposite the pair of them, and steadied his hand by taking up the wine bottle and a glass. He gave Bossuet a smile that felt rather tremulous. “'Chetta, will you fetch down the hatbox that is on the top shelf of the wardrobe for me? I fear I may need a drink, before we get on.”

Bossuet gave him a very serious look, eyes gone dark. “Joly...”

Joly poured his glass, then glanced at Musichetta's back as she went to open the wardrobe, and poured one for her as well. “Hush, Eagle. Don't look at me down your beak, so. The revolution will not mind if we make use of our supplies ahead of time, in such a pursuit, I think.”

Musichetta set down the hatbox on the table. It settled with a much more solid thunk than a hat would have warranted, and she looked from the one of them, to the other. “Joly, what..?”

Joly lifted off the lid, and picked up the heavy flintlock pistol that sat where his spare top hat should have been. The hat had been lent to Bossuet, and they had pressed the empty box into other service. He sat the gun down beside his glass. “If it is a man, this will surely stop it. It is only logic.”

Bossuet shook his head at him. “Logic, even now. Truly you are a man of science, Joly.”

Musichetta coughed delicately, and lifted her glass. She managed to make her voice shake only a very little bit. “To Bossuet,” she said, “and to the three of us, all together. May nothing part us, so long as we will fight for each other.”

They all touched glasses, and drank, as the streets went dark outside. It was too serious a business to do otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three lovers, two Bossuets, one pistol. What could possibly go wrong?
> 
> I do not like this math.


	3. Bossuet/Laigle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They would never know which was the real one, there was no way to tell, beyond a guess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There is absolutely no gore, but someone gets shot.  
Also: Joly's given name is Nicholas.I try to avoid first names in my les amis fanfics but in this moment it felt needed.

Hardly twenty minutes passed before the knocking came at the door.

Bossuet started so badly that he almost dropped his wine into his lap, but after bobbling the glass managed to regain a grip, only spilling a few drops. Musichetta went white and pale. Joly moved his hand off of his glass, and onto the pistol.

He looked at Bossuet as he called out. “Yes? Who is it?” His voice did not shake, which was an accomplishment.

“It's me! I'm sorry, I ran into a spot of bad luck—I haven't the key you gave me. It was in my jacket pocket, and alas! We have been parted.” It was Bossuet's voice behind the door, but Bossuet was still sat there at the table, his mouth closed, gone round-eyed at the sound. In spite of having believed his story, Joly felt a deep cold in his spine at this confirmation. He opened his mouth, for he had to reply. He was not sure what words would come out.

Musichetta's hand shot out, and caught his sleeve, and he paused. She plunged into the opening. “Birdie!” Joly stared at her, impressed. Her tone was one of cheerful teasing, although he could feel her hand shaking on his arm. “You never came for me! I had to walk over myself! I've half a mind to tell Joly not to let you in!”

A laugh, from outside. “Oh, please, you mustn't punish me after a day such as this one has been! I promise, I didn't mean to be late darling, and I can explain, truly!”

Musichetta was not listening, she spoke at the same time, in a low urgent voice. “Bossuet, you must hide. If it sees you it will know right away that we _know—“_

Joly thought for not the first time that they had been lucky in finding her. This was very clever indeed. Truly she was the most sensible of them all. He nodded agreement.

“Where?” Bossuet looked about an inch from getting up and diving straight out the window, in spite of the six story drop outside of it.

“The wardrobe!” It was the only man-sized furniture Joly possessed, and under the bed would be a trap if a hasty exit were required.

“'Chetta! Jolllly! Come, you will let me in, won't you? Where shall I find another branch to nest on, if the two of you are vexed with me?” He sounded good natured enough, in the way a Bossuet ought. Even without having seen, Joly was afraid of how like him it must be, and meanwhile their own poor eagle scared to shaking.

“Just one moment, dear—“

“Hold on Birdie, just one second—“ Both Joly and Musichetta sounded rather breathless. She was shutting Bossuet into the wardrobe, and Joly was tucking the pistol into the back of his waist as he got up.

The Other Bossuet laughed merrily again. “Oh no! You have begun more than supper without me, haven't you? I deserve it, for my tardiness, but don't dare make me stay out here and only _imagine_ it!”

Joly coughed, his throat very tight. “That would be cruel indeed, to make you peep at the keyhole. I'm coming...”

Musichetta caught at his sleeve again, pressed close and went on her toes, to speak low in his ear. “Don't just shoot him. We must be sure. What if—?” She moved only her eyes, a glance toward the wardrobe.

Joly felt as if he might throw up. He had been considering just firing through the door, so that he would not have to look Bossuet in the face as he did it, even if it wasn't truly their Bossuet at all, was a sneaking _Laigle_, a fake. But if there was any doubt...He nodded at her again, then went to open the door.

He was braced as if to be confronted with a horror, and so was she. And yet there was no one there when the door opened but Bossuet, looking sheepish and red in his waistcoat and shirtsleeves. But he grinned as he came in, clasping Joly's bloodless arm for a moment, and brushing a kiss on his cheek before going past him to embrace Musichetta, who to her credit managed to return it without being too terribly stiff. She picked up the wineglass that the first one had left on the table and handed it to him.

“Well, then,” she said. “What happened, that I had to come here on my own, and you kept us waiting all this time? What is the _disastre du jour?"_

The new Bossuet rubbed a hand over the top of his smooth head. “I _am_ sorry. You know I wouldn't miss a moment with the two of you on purpose!” He sighed. “First, I think someone stole my coat...well, _your_ coat, Joly. It was the one you lent me while mine is being turned. I got out of my class and realized i must have left it on the back of my chair, but then i went back in and it was gone. And the key in the pocket too! So I am afraid I owe you both a coat and a key, my dear, I do apologise. I really have no luck, and it is spreading to touch you, I fear!”

Joly managed a weak laugh. “It is only a coat. Not so important a thing.”

Most concerns paled beside the possibility of shooting one's dearest friend.

“Still, I will replace it, when I can!”

Musichetta cut in. “That shouldn't have made you this late, Bossuet.”

“Ah, no.” He looked down for a moment, then up again. “That was the second bad luck. When I went back into the classroom, the door closed behind me, and locked. I would have sworn it was wide open, and I didn't shut it apurpose, but there it is. I thought I should be stuck until Monday morning, but fortunately the caretaker happened to pass down the hallway later and hear me knocking, so he let me out. I went straight to yours, Musichetta, but you had left long ago, of course, so I finally made my way here, hoping to catch the two of you up!” He paused, taking a good look at the two of them. “You...do not seem like you have actually got much ahead of me. I'm sorry, I have worried you, haven't I?”

Joly and Musichetta exchanged a look. She stepped around the table to stand by his elbow, conveniently putting them both opposite Bossuet. “Joly,” she said, voice thin. “I _can't tell._ This sounds so like him, but.”

Joly swallowed. “I know. I _know._ So does the other."

Bossuet blinked, looking from one of them to the other. “What's wrong? Other what?”

Joly pulled the gun from the back of his waist, and pointed it at Bossuet-Laigle-_Whoever_ was stood behind the table. They paled.

“Nick—“ They said. It was rare that Bossuet would call him by his given name. Joly tried to keep the pistol steady in his hand, brought up his other arm to brace it. Musichetta made a muffled sob.

“Nico, we can't, I don't know—“

“Shh, 'Chetta, I know.” Joly looked at the one they faced. “Why did you leave Lille?”

The Bossuet across from them seemed confused. “You know this—I am the oldest of thirteen. It was crowded, and funds were tight. I thought I ought to make my own way as soon as I could. Nick—Joly. Musichetta...I don't— I don't understand. What is...?

Joly did not take his eyes off of him, nor lower the pistol. “Musichetta. Let him out, will you. Maybe...maybe with both of them?”

“Both of what?” Bossuet had not moved an inch, had his hands up, one still clutching the wine glass.

Musichetta swallowed audibly. “You. Both of _you._” She pulled open the wardrobe, and the first Bossuet came out. She gave him a wide berth, slipping back to Joly's side.

The two Bossuets stared at each other. They were identical in every way, excepting only that the one from the wardrobe was wearing Joly's jacket. Both of them were shaking pale. They would never know which was the real one, there was no way to tell, beyond a guess.

The one in the jacket found his voice first.

“ I won't let you have them,” he said. “This is my life, you can't have it!”

The second one looked away from his double, to Joly and Musichetta. His voice was thin and weak. “My God,” he said, with what looked like a sickly attempt at a smile. “I am quite beside myself.”

Musichetta made a sharp sound, as if someone had trod on her foot, and Joly shot the one in the jacket dead.

Only the jacket hit the floor—Laigle disappeared in less than a blink, gone as if he had never been.

Midnight found the three of them huddled tight together in the single bed. For once no one complained about the tight space. None of them ever complained about each other's terrible puns again, either.

If anything, they made even more of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this was a satisfying wee spook for you all. (by the way, these three are darlings and i will ALWAYS give them happy endings)
> 
> Happy Hallowe'en!


End file.
